


Circus Monster

by babybluebutterfly, why_cello_there



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, circus AU, no one is happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12046497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluebutterfly/pseuds/babybluebutterfly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_cello_there/pseuds/why_cello_there
Summary: At first the pain was sharp. Piercing like a bullet and running his heart through. Science says that it’s your brain that holds your consciousness; that every thought and feeling ebbs and flows from a central source like ripples across a pond. But if that were the case, then why did his heart lurch so? A distinct and violent pain in his chest that filled his eyes with tears and tore wracked sobs from his throat. He could see now why ancient civilisations thought the heart was the source of all emotion, and there was no emotion stronger than heartbreak.Henry Ledore was gone. He’d fallen to his death.Randall had let him go.~*~After Henry's death in the Akbadain ruins, Randall leaves Stansbury and finds himself caught up in more trouble than he could possibly imagine.





	Circus Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that why_cello_there and I have been working on for a while!
> 
> It's a Circus AU that diverges quite a bit from the original canon. So only Henry and Randall lived in Stansbury, and no other character relations exist beforehand unless specified otherwise. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

At first the pain was sharp. Piercing like a bullet and running his heart through. Science says that it’s your brain that holds your consciousness; that every thought and feeling ebbs and flows from a central source like ripples across a pond. But if that were the case, then why did his heart lurch so? A distinct and violent pain in his chest that filled his eyes with tears and tore wracked sobs from his throat. He could see now why ancient civilisations thought the heart was the source of all emotion, and there was no emotion stronger than heartbreak.

He called out again, his hoarse voice echoing off stone walls and down into the shadowy void below. It came out of nowhere, and seemed to stretch downwards eternally. Darkness consumed the bottom of the chasm, making it impossible for him to see where, or even if, it ended. It had to be at least a hundred metres down. There was no way he could have survived.

He beat his fists against the ground. Sharp stones dug into his hands. He screamed and cursed the ruins, cursed the Azran, cursed his own  _ stupid self _ for being so ambitious as to think that two teenagers could pull off such an expedition. He wished he’d never even set foot into the Akbadain ruins. It was unfair, it was cruel. He should have been the one to fall. More sobs tore at his throat and contorted his form until he gave in, curling up under the immense weight of reality. His fingers wrapped protectively around the golden mask that had brought them so much misfortune. The mask of chaos; what an appropriate name. He had ruined his best friend’s life, all over some worthless fortune.

 

Henry Ledore was gone. He’d fallen to his death.

Randall had let him go.

 

~*~

 

It was when he got home that numbness finally overtook him, and the warm embrace of apathy drew him into an uneasy calm. Randall stood silently at the door to his home, unsure if he’d be welcomed anymore. Surely his parents wouldn’t be able to forgive him. Henry… It was Randall’s fault. He let him go; watched him fall.

_ It should have been you… _

He knocked lightly at the door, letting his arm fall down to his side. He had no energy left anymore. The door opened and immediately a pair of arms reached down, embracing him tightly. Randall allowed himself to be pulled inside and set down on the couch by his mother. She stared at him silently with confused and worried eyes before a tirade of questions began. 

“Where have you been?”

Randall was too tired to respond. His eyes fell to the ground. His mother pulled his face up so he had no choice but to meet her gaze. She looked furious now.

“What happened?”

Randall could feel tears starting to burn in his eyes again. He’d spent the whole trip home trying to put up walls in his mind to keep his tears from flowing out. He didn’t even know how he could respond. His throat felt choked and he doubted that he could talk even if he wanted to. What could he say? That he had slipped out of his bedroom window at midnight when his parents were sleeping so he could disappear for several days? That he was exploring uncharted and unsafe ruins, fighting off mummies and running from death traps? That he’d lost…

“Where is Henry?”

It was at the mention of Henry’s name that his mind shattered. Tears began to flow unrestrained from his eyes, and he began to sob once again. Sensing that she had accidentally struck a chord with her question, his mother paused her interrogation, wrapping him into a tight embrace and mumbling comforting words in his ear. Soon tears began to slip down her cheeks too, as she held her crying, disheveled son in her arms.

It felt like ages before either of them could move again. Mrs Ascot slowly pulled away, offering a hand to help her son up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home, alright?”

Randall nodded slowly. Right, his father. He would probably be furious, and Randall would face the full force of his aggression. He remembered once he’d snuck out a few years back, and his father had grounded him for months. He didn’t want to think of what his father might do to him tonight.

His mother ran off to run him a bath, and he just sat there, lamenting on how badly he had ruined his own life. All because he was too stupid to listen to any common sense. Henry had warned him since day one of the damned exploration that this was a bad idea, that Randall would get in trouble, that Randall’s parents would worry. He started to feel sick thinking about Henry. Whenever Randall tried to visualize him happy and alive, his brain would replace the image with that of Henry’s terrified eyes as he fell. Soon enough, all he could see was Henry falling. He must have felt so scared. Betrayed. Falling. Falling. Hitting the bottom with a sickening thud. Bones shattering, and eyes turning dull and lifeless in a single, irreversible moment.

Randall truly felt like he would have thrown up if his mother hadn’t returned in that moment, softly letting him know that his bath was ready. Snapped out of his horrified daze, he stood up suddenly, heading to the bathroom. He thanked his mum as he passed her by, truly thankful that she was giving him a moment to gather himself before questioning him further.

He closed the bathroom door behind him quickly. He slid down to the floor, curling his knees up to his chest protectively. Every thought in his mind just went back to Henry, and how he had let him down.

_ You killed him… _

He felt guilt swirling around his stomach, bringing back the illness he felt before. Randall knew he’d never be able to forgive himself for what happened, and somehow he didn’t think he deserved forgiveness from anyone. Especially not from himself. Self-hatred was eating away at him.

Randall eventually pulled himself to his feet, stripping his clothes off and staring into the bathroom mirror. He met his own gaze, red and puffy; he looked like a mess. His ginger hair was brown with dirt and matted, his skin was covered in nicks and cuts where it had been exposed, and bruises practically everywhere else. A particularly nasty cut under his eye caught his attention. He couldn’t recall where he’d gotten it from; likely a fight with sword-wielding mummies. It was quite deep, and had left a trail of blood down his cheek before dirt and air dried it out. He’d have to clean it so it wouldn’t get infected, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that just yet. Inspecting the rest of his body, he found that the only place unmarred from the expedition was his arms. 

His arms…

A small pair of scissors from his mother’s manicure set lay on the bench. No, he wasn’t going to even  _ think  _ about that. But whenever his thoughts drifted back to Henry, the prospect of a few more injuries didn’t seem all too terrible; it was almost enticing. And it was the least he deserved. He’d killed his best friend, dropped him and watched him fall, and there was nothing he could do to change that cruel twist of fate. He murdered him. It should have been him that fell instead. He killed Henry.

Randall didn’t remember picking up the scissors, his mind hadn’t caught up enough to process it. He barely registered as he flicked them open, exposing the dull blade. It wouldn’t be enough to do any real damage, Randall thought as he turned the sharp edge towards his wrists. He didn’t care, he just needed to hurt; to feel pain. He deserved it, right? As the cool metal slid across his skin, he let out a light hiss of pain as a shallow cut formed. Not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to break the skin and sting horribly. The sensation made bile rise in the back of his throat. Randall had never done anything like this before, he’d never been able to understand why anyone would even  _ need _ to. Even now, he couldn’t justify why he was doing this, his mind just screamed for him to cut deeper, to use something sharper. Another cut, further down, then two more. With an angry sob, he sliced his skin once more. This time, he did draw blood. Thick droplets bubbled their way to the surface. Randall watched, shocked for a moment as the blood trickled down his arm, leaving a red trail in it’s wake.

In that moment, a swift knock on the door rang out. Randall held back a startled yelp, dropping the scissors onto the tiled floor with a clatter.

“Are you alright, Randy?” His mother’s voice called out softly, concern evident in her tone.

“I-I’m ok mum. I’ll be out in a little while.” He responded shakily.

He hoped his mum couldn’t hear the crack in his voice. Though after a while, she seemed satisfied with his response, and Randall heard her footsteps walking away down the hallway. He glanced down to where the scissors had fallen. They had landed on a discarded towel. Flecks of blood from the scissors stained the white fabric.  _ Shit _ . Randall scooped the towel and the scissors quickly, dumping them in the sink and running the tap, leaving them to soak. The red on the towel began to dissipate into the water quickly. Randall sighed in relief. Finally, he decided that he ought to get cleaned up himself as well.

He sank into the now lukewarm bath, and started to scrub himself clean. The cut on his arm had stopped bleeding now. The water sent another jolt of pain through his arm as he tried to wash off the blood, but he stayed silent. In the end, it took two changes of water for him to scrub the mud and dirt out from his skin and hair completely.

Once he was dry and dressed, he inspected himself again. He looked significantly better now that he was clean, he admitted. His ginger hair, yet to be tamed with a brush, stuck out messily at every angle in a rather comedic fashion. His mother had left him a change of clothes, a baggy long-sleeved shirt, and jeans. His ascot was tied around his wrist to hide his self-inflicted injuries. He felt a sense of oppressive numbness settling in his mind again, though he didn’t know whether it was from tiredness, or his mind trying to keep him distanced from any further self-destructive impulses. He noted that the cut under his eye was looking better, but then again, now it was much easier to see how deep it was. Randall knew it was going to scar.

_ A reminder of what you did. _

He winced internally at the cruel thought. He didn’t want to think about that any more.

Slowly, Randall made his way out of the bathroom and to his bedroom. His mother would undoubtedly be waiting for him downstairs, but he didn’t think he could face her right now; he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to. He shut himself in his room and made his way over to his bed. He was absolutely exhausted. Just as he was about to lie down, his eyes fell upon the grinning face of the mask of chaos sitting upon his pillow. He froze for a second. He hadn’t realized he’d brought it back, and didn’t even remember how it could have gotten here. He reasoned that his mother must have seen it and brought it up to his room. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was utterly worthless to him. He might as well throw it away; but no. it was his last link to what had happened down in the Akbadain ruins; his last link to Henry. And so he fell asleep, clutching the mask with desperation, as he had when he kneeled before the ravine.  
  


~*~

 

Tears fell silently down Randall’s cheeks as he packed his things. He hadn’t thought things could have gotten any worse. It had only taken until the next morning, however, for him to truly hit rock-bottom. 

 

~*~

 

He was woken up by a loud banging at his door, and he had leapt upright as his father burst in, eyes glowing with anger and betrayal. He stormed up to Randall, wasting no time in letting his fury be known. Randall backed up against the headboard of his bed, feeling for once in his life genuinely afraid of his usually strict but placid father. He bombarded Randall with questions, roaring at him to explain himself to him and his mother. Randall just sat there, shocked and scared at his father’s sudden outburst. A pregnant pause fell over the two. Randall knew his father was expecting a response, but he couldn’t get his mouth to start talking. He felt detached and scared. He couldn’t speak, didn’t know if he’d ever be able to again. Everything felt like it was moving too fast, and Randall’s mind was whirring. 

When Randall failed to start talking, his father grabbed him by the wrist, saying that Randall would come downstairs  _ now,  _ and that he’d  better start talking or else there would be consequences. The ascot on Randall’s wrist twisted painfully against the concealed cuts beneath. Randall yelped, pulling his hand away sharply. The ascot came off in his father’s hand, and Randall was left cradling his exposed wrist to his chest.

A look of confusion fell over his father’s face. He glanced between the orange fabric in his hands, and his son. Slowly, paternal concern started to replace the anger in his mind, and he sat down on the bed next to his fearful son.

“Randall, please can I take a look at your wrist?” He asked softly.

Randall still couldn’t respond. His throat felt choked, and something in his mind was stopping the words from coming out. He was cornered and defeated.

His father gently reached out, pulling Randall’s injured arm away from his chest, and hesitantly, Randall let him. Randall couldn’t miss the fear that flashed through his father’s eyes, or the way his breath caught for just a moment. Randall’s father traced his fingers over the inflamed, red lines, inspecting them. Randall felt absolutely sick from guilt. His father didn’t deserve this, nor his mother, who would definitely be hearing about it very soon. 

His wrist was released, and Randall immediately hid it in his lap. He couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. His father pulled him into a protective hug, and Randall realized then that he’d started crying. They stayed like that for a while, before Mr. Ascot spoke.

“Son… Please… Why?”

His voice was strained and pleading. There was no anger in it any more, simply a deep sadness.

Randall had no words.

His father stood again after a while, turning to leave. Before he exited, he spoke.

“Son, just wait here for a while. I just need to… discuss something with your mother.”   


Randall knew exactly what he meant.

 

~*~

 

And so he found himself now frantically packing his things into an old backpack. He was going to run away. Randall knew it was cowardly of him, but then again, he wasn’t feeling too brave today. Minutes after his father had left, he’d heard his parents loudly talking from the floor below. He hadn’t heard much, only a few snippets of conversation; a danger to himself… failure… 

He realised then that he’d let down his parents beyond possible repair. It was a thought that shook him to his very core, and burnt into his mind just as much as losing Henry had. The aching pain of heartbreak rattled around in his chest again. That was when he had decided to leave. It would be best for all of them. His parents wouldn’t have to worry about him, or spend any money or time on him any more. He felt as if he’d be doing them a favour. 

Randall stuffed the last of his essentials into the bag, and looked around for anything else he might want. Some books, a journal and pen, and the mask all caught his eye, and so those too were packed into the backpack. He zipped it up, and prepared to make his exit. Looking down from his window, he was thankful for a bedroom that was easy to climb down from. Randall had made the descent many times before, during midnight escapades with Henry. 

Henry... 

This was the right choice. Randall needed to leave everything behind, and shed away his past or else risk becoming caught up in it like a moth in a spider’s web. He had ended Henry’s life, destroyed his parents lives, and fucked up his own life. Things would only get better if he left.

And so he did, descending from his window and disappearing into the vastness of the world like a drop of water into the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! Please leave kudos if you enjoyed! Comments and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> why_cello_there and I are taking turns writing each chapter so that we may work on two fics at a time, and so they'll be writing the next chapter, which is something to look forward to!


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